


Courtship in the 21st Century

by idelthoughts



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Morgue Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts/pseuds/idelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drinks, crime scenes, and chemical compound tests weren't your average date, but it seemed to be working with Molly.  Henry had clearly done something right in his life, if this was his lot.    Missing scene from 1x16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courtship in the 21st Century

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up from where Henry and Molly's date ended, through to the next morning when he calls in the team.
> 
> Thank you to steamshovelmama for the beta help.

The drug testing kit slipped from Henry’s fingers and clattered onto the metal slab top.  With it, all thoughts of the case fell to the wayside in favour of Molly.  
  
Her mouth was hot on his neck, her hold on his jacket lapels secure enough to keep him in place.  He toyed with the thin straps of her dress, his patience and desire to move this towards someone’s house—anyone’s, his, hers, he didn’t care—waning.    
  
“Molly,” he said, and his voice lacked any strength, far too breathy as she sucked on the skin below his jaw.  “If you keep doing that, we aren’t going to make it out of the morgue.”  
  
“Doesn’t bother me.  And I bet it doesn’t bother you at all.”  
  
He had to concede she was right, he couldn’t care less where they were.  Perhaps was a little excited by it, even.  Not that he had ever been a stickler for rules, but some rules were much more fun to break than others.  Even so, there was probably—  
  
She lifted her head to kiss him again and he lost the thread of that thought, too.  He leaned into her, pressing her back in his eagerness, and she hooked a foot behind his leg and pulled him closer until he was between her knees, his hips slotted perfectly between her thighs.  Her arms and back were chilled, goose-bumped with the cold temperature of the morgue, but she was warm and tempting through the thin fabric of his trousers.  As he slid a hand up her leg to the crease of her thigh, he found that was indeed all there was between them—she was certainly not wearing anything beneath that dress.  
  
He was done for.    
  
“My office is warmer.”  
  
“Mm,” she agreed.  She gently bit his lower lip, then released it.  “That has its appeal.  Although I have to admit I’d love to be able to say we had sex on an autopsy table.”  
  
“I doubt I’d be able to perform an autopsy again without a very unfortunate reaction,” he teased, kissing along her jaw and down her neck, pausing to nip at her collarbone.  She pushed him back and slid down off the table.    
  
“Come on then, Dr. Morgan.  Let’s see your office.”  
  
She walked away from him and glanced over her shoulder with perfectly calculated coyness.  As she moved she pulled at the straps of her black dress.  The slither of light fabric, sliding down to reveal the curve of her back.  Another two steps and it dropped to the ground, leaving her nude but for her black heels.  As she’d said, and as his brief exploration had confirmed—no lingerie whatsoever.    
  
With a last look at him inviting him to follow, Molly stepped from the puddle of fabric and walked into his office.  The door closed behind her, the glare of the white lights turning the glass opaque and obscuring her.  
  
He took a moment to reorient himself to the warped unreality of the situation.  Yes, definitely in the morgue, aroused beyond belief, with a naked woman in his office, and he was intent on performing as many acts inappropriate for the workplace as possible before the start of business day tomorrow.  The singular uniqueness of the experience was just as titillating as Molly herself.  
  
He’d clearly done something right in his life, if this was his lot. There weren’t many times he looked kindly on the universe for its capricious whims, but this—well, he could certainly appreciate this.  He stopped to scoop up the soft pile of her dress and then pushed open the door to his office.  
  
She was seated in his chair, legs crossed, feet up on his desk, her hands clasped and fingers steepled to a point beneath her chin, arms artfully arranged to obscure her breasts.  He knew his jaw was hanging rather unattractively, and there were likely better ways to show his appreciation than the leer he was sporting.    
  
“Nice decor.  It suits you.  Very old money.” she said.  She waved a lazy hand to encompass the room, giving him a brief glimpse of one peaked nipple before it was hidden again.  
  
“I have a taste for antiques.”  He shook out her dress and hung it by its straps on his coat stand before returning his attention to her.    
  
She crooked a finger to beckon him over.    
  
Curious to know how she intended this to play out, he rounded the corner of his desk, taking his time.  Without warning she dropped her feet from the desk and rose up, caught him by the lapels of his jacket and guided him into the chair.  As he landed heavily she slid a knee in at his side, hands bracing on the arm rests, her face inches from his.  He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath, not certain where his eyes wanted to be, but ultimately drawn back to her face and her warm smile.  
  
“So what else do you have a taste for?  Should I be calling you Doctor Morgan and asking to take dictation?”  
  
He laughed at her cheekiness, running his hand up her thigh and over the curve of her hip to rest in the dip of her waist, thumb moving over the sloping line of her hipbone.  Her eyelashes fluttered when he brushed his other hand against the swell one breast, his exploration of her soft skin slow and careful until he couldn’t wait any longer—he cupped her face to pull her close enough to kiss her.  Her elbows unlocked and she relaxed into him, the chair tilting back until she was over him, and he smiled in satisfaction to hear her small moan when he rolled one nipple between his fingers.  
  
“I think if I had a secretary like you, I wouldn’t get any work done.”  He ran his hand over the curve of her flank.  She was temptingly spread over him, with one leg braced on the ground and the other still wedged beside him.  “Nor am I certain anyone could be your boss.”  
  
“I don’t know, I might let you boss me around,” she laughed.  
  
He let his hand trail down her body, over her belly, then the short trimmed hair between her legs, to run a finger along the warm, damp slit.  She was wet, aroused, and gave a short, sharp inhale when he pressed the barest tip of one finger into her.  
  
“May I?” He pressed in a little further.  
  
“Mm-hm,” she hummed as she kissed his cheek, his ear, her mouth moving over his skin.  
  
He pressed into her slowly, taking care to not rush, finding the way easy as his fingers slid into her.  She braced herself against the back of his chair, arms either side of his head.  Her eyelids were hooded, lower lip caught between her teeth.  He crooked his fingers towards him and her mouth opened in response, her hips shifting against his hand.  She narrowed her eyes.  
  
“Now how would you explain this, Dr. Morgan?  You still in your nice suit, naked girl in your office, fingers inside her?”  She gasped through the last words as he pressed into her further.  He watched her mouth, hypnotized. “Not exactly office policy, is it?”  
  
“Office policy can go hang.”  He moved his fingers, gratified to see her head dip and her gaze unfocus.  
  
“And what if there were people out there?” The leather of his chair creaked as her hands clenched.  “Would you shut the blinds, tell no one to disturb us? Would you fuck me on your desk, then go back to work like nothing happened?”  
  
He worked his fingers in and out of her in an echo of her unspooling scenario.  Her hips shifted with him and he was overcome with the idea of her across his desk, of trying to keep silent as he came inside her.  
  
“Yes,” he breathed.  “God, yes.”  
  
Her head rolled back and she groaned, deep and satisfied, as he bent his fingers forward, pressing.  He was so hard it was distracting, his cock trapped awkwardly, and he worked his other hand into his trousers to adjust himself.  His action drew her attention and she raised her eyebrows as though she were granting him a compliment.  Her approval settled into his stomach with a pleasant glow, and he grinned up at her.    
  
Molly didn’t let him keep the the upper hand.  She shifted back off his lap, his fingers sliding from her, and sat on the edge of the desk.  One foot she rested on the arm of his chair, the other she placed on his shoulder.  They were still strapped into the black heels, the spike pressing into him and verging on the cusp of uncomfortable.  She was a sight before him, her soft smile, her legs bracketing him, her body back across his desk and resting on her elbows.  The contrast of his office around them made this like a vivid, pornographic dream.  
  
“And how would you want me? Like this?”  
  
Her hand ran over her breast, down her stomach, until her fingers curled between her legs where his had been.  He was absorbed by the tiny circles she was drawing.  He wanted to press his face to her, to taste her, to be the one stoking her breath to race and roar.  He leaned forward unconsciously, not realizing he was doing so until the press of his body drove her heel into his shoulder even harder.  He licked his lips, lifting his head up to meet her gaze, which pinned him as surely as her heel.  
  
“Yes, like this.”  He trailed his fingers down the insides of her thighs, stopping short to circle beneath, caressing the curve of her buttocks, then back up to lightly rest over the backs of the fingers she touched herself with. She was like a fantasy come to life, just beyond reach.  He felt her fingers shift beneath his, his own fingertips running over the back of her hand, mirroring her action.  “Exactly like this.  You are incredible, Molly.”  
  
Her smile gentled and she lifted her foot to hook it over his shoulder and pull him closer.  The door open and permission granted, he wasted no time and ducked his head to kiss the inside of her knee eagerly, then down her thigh.  Her fingers worked into his hair and tightened, tugging, directing him until he was nestled between her legs, hot moist breath reflecting back at him, the scent of her making his ears ring with his racing pulse.  
  
At the first touch of his lips, her legs shifted and parted wider.  She pet the top of his head, smoothing his hair.  
  
“Like this, hm?  The usual office fantasy, I’d be on my knees,” she murmured, then inhaled deeply as he brushed his lips over her again.  “You putting on your good polite face while I suck you off under your desk.”  
  
His groin throbbed at the unexpected image, his mind supplying the hot, wet feel of her mouth on him.  _Oh_.  The idea had its appeal.  She seemed to sense the way her words scored a hit and scratched her fingernails lightly along his scalp, laughing softly.  
  
“No one would know, Henry.  Just you,”  Molly said.  “Do you think you could do it?  Keep nice and quiet?  Or would I have to gag you?”  
  
His groan was muffled as he buried his face against her, unable to hold back any longer.  _Would_ she gag him?  Was that an idle threat, or would she?  Strange how very appealing the idea was—or perhaps not so strange.  How many evenings had he found himself picturing what might have been if they’d not been interrupted that night he’d come to her office?  Those idle fantasies hadn’t stopped with anything so tame as being gagged.  He licked into her and her harsh intake of breath was like music.  She shifted her legs to wrap around his body, her spiked heels digging into his back.  
  
She was burning into his mind’s eye, the soft planes of her belly and breasts, the fall of her hair against her shoulders as she watched him, each flicker of her eyelids as he moved his tongue.  She was beautiful, responsive.  
  
“A little lower and you’ll— _oh_.” Her head fell back as Henry quickly followed her instruction, pressing his tongue flat and hard against her.  
  
He loved doing this; using his mouth, the intimacy and finesse and care of delicately bringing out each response, free to touch her where he would.  There was nothing like it, nothing to compare to both the power and submission in it, and he closed his eyes as he sucked her hard clit into his mouth, rubbing his tongue over it.  He shifted his trousers again to relieve the pressure on his stiff cock but lingered there, rubbing a hand over himself in time with the stroke of his tongue.    
  
Molly’s thighs tightened along the sides of his head, muffling her cry. He sucked on her again, harder this time.  She shuddered in response and he squeezed his cock through his trousers, shivering himself before moving his hand away.  He could wait.  He wanted to devote his attention to this, to her, because there was nothing like it in the world.  He’d happily do this for her as long as she’d let him.  
  
Softer, his tongue and lips moving over her, distracting patterns, then rhythmic, and her back arched off the desk, grinding her pubic bone hard against his mouth.    
  
“Perfect, like that, keep going, yes, Henry, _yes_ ,” she instructed through short panting cries, and he kept up the lapping motion, following the roll of her hips as she ground against him.  
  
There was a hint of laughter behind her throaty words, each moan corresponding to the glide of his mouth over her smooth, wet flesh, the flick of his tongue over the hard nub of her clit making her push up towards his mouth each time.  Soon the laughter was gone and her thighs were shaking.  Her back was arched high and her breasts pushed into his hands as he smoothed over the soft skin and nipples.  The sound of her cry was shockingly loud in his office.  
  
Her knees sagged as he released her from his mouth, moving his tongue lightly over her, and she collapsed flat again on his desk, arms spread wide to clutch at the side edges of the top, pale skin standing in sharp contrast to the dark wood.  He wondered if he’d ever be able to sit here again without seeing her spread like this before him.    
  
He gave a satisfied sigh as he nuzzled against her one last time and then rested his cheek against her leg, caressing the line of her hips.  Molly propped herself on her elbows, her body limp and languid beneath his touch.  
  
“Alright?” he asked.  He kissed her inner thigh.  His face was wet and heated from her, and her skin was nearly cool in comparison.  
  
“You know it was,” she teased, but she was dazed enough that the normal sharp edge to her humour was dulled, smoothed out into an affectionate, intimate tone.  
  
He offered her help up, and she let herself be pulled upright and back into his lap.  He had to scoot forward to give her enough room to straddle him comfortably, but eventually she was fit against him, beautifully naked and flushed.  He lowered his head to rub his lips over her breasts, appreciating the soft heft of each one as his hands travelled them, then to her back and the curve of her rear resting on his legs.  She was absorbing, beautiful.    
  
She plucked at his shirt buttons as he buried his face in her breasts.  
  
“You wear too many clothes, Henry.”  
  
“Clearly not a characteristic we share,” he said, mumbling around her nipple, licking and sucking at it.  
  
He wanted to be inside her, to free himself and push into her without bothering to waste time on more buttons than necessary.  But the idea of freezing the moment here, of taking his time to bring her to orgasm again and again, was so tempting.  Deny himself, let himself live in this moment of yearning for her.  The longing for her was just as powerful a draw as having her.  He turned his attention to her other breast, to the slide of her firm nipple across his tongue, so like having her clit in his mouth.  She was so, so beautiful, every piece of her.  She guided him up to kiss her, which he did eagerly.  
  
Molly returned to working at the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat, then to belt buckle and trousers, working down his zipper.  He gasped as she fondled him through the thin fabric of his boxers, and his head lolled back at the perfect line of his cock against her when she rolled her hips against him.  He pried his eyes open to find her locked on him.  She was always watching him, so intent and observant, gauging his reactions.  
  
“I don’t suppose you keep condoms in your lab,” she said, faintly hopeful.  “I didn’t bring any, I really thought we’d make it back to my place.  I had candles ready, even.  It was all very nice.”  
  
“No, I’m afraid not.”  He settled his hands to the curve of her rear and pulled her tight to him, grinding her against him once more, the thin fabric the only thing between her hot, moist heat and him.  She tightened her legs, increasing the friction.  Damn, this was wonderful torture. “But from now on I’ll be sure to stock them.”  
  
“You have gloves, right?”  
  
Her fingers slid through his hair and he agreed blindly, grinding her down again.  Oh, maybe he could just do this until he came.  It had been so long he was quite likely to, well and truly tantalized by the taste of her, the teasing, all of it.    
  
“Got any KY kicking around?”  
  
His foggy thoughts started to put together her words, and he left off mouthing at her neck to look up at her.  Her eyes were wide and innocent, but her grin was devious.  
  
“Might well do.  And what did you have in mind?”  
  
She raised an eyebrow and sat back, slipping off his lap and perching again on the edge of the desk.  He stood and followed her, unable to let the space between them be empty, and she let him between her legs to fit against her once more.  He cupped her face, mesmerized by her.    
  
“Well, then.  Giving you a turn bent over this desk, for one.”    
  
She pushed at his unfastened trousers until they slid down to his knees, the belt buckle loudly knocking against the edge of the desk as it went by, and slipped a hand into the waistband of his underwear at his back to lightly caress the cleft of his buttocks. He shivered, jaw dropping open.  
  
When had he last had anyone do that for him?  It had been bloody _decades_.  Her finger stroked the sensitive skin again and he gulped at the wave of intense, nervous excitement.  She rested her chin against his chest with a contented sigh.  
  
“Thought you’d like that,” she whispered.  “Henry, you just might be perfect.”  She removed her hand and leaned back, unhooking her feet from behind his legs, expectant.  She fluttered her eyelashes in coquettish innocence and tipped her head to the side to indicate his office door.  “Well?”  
  
_Oh, hell._  
  
He stepped back quickly and reached for his trousers around his ankles and pull them up so he could walk, answering her laughter with a wink as he left the office.  He shivered in the chill room as he grabbed several pairs of gloves and the lubricant used in various non-surgical autopsy procedures.  While there shouldn’t be anyone around at this time of night, he spared a quick glance for the hall.  It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility to find night security guards doing a turn of the building.  Good luck explaining a half-dressed Assistant Chief M.E. running around the morgue with a naked woman—it would make justifying his skinny-dipping adventures a walk in the park in comparison.  Given what awaited him in his office, however, it was worth the risk.  
  
“As requested,” he said, brandishing them with a grin as he returned to his office.    
  
Molly was swinging her legs on the edge of the desk, and she hopped off to greet him.  She was still pleasantly flushed, her cheeks pink, eyes bright, as she beckoned him closer.    
  
“Excellent!”  She wrapped her hand around his, turning his fist over to inspect the tube.  “Okay, I was mostly joking about the lube.  What do you guys get up to with the dead bodies in here?”  
  
Henry guffawed, then leaned in to kiss her, still chuckling.    
  
“I assure you, all above board.  You’d be surprised the number of things you find in odd places.  Sometimes a delicate removal is required in order to preserve evidence.”  
  
Molly grinned and plucked the gloves from him and pulled them on expertly, snapping each into place.  Henry shed his jacket and chucked it to the side, his body warm and sweaty beneath his collar.  He had a brief twinge of guilt over broken fibers and wrinkles, but he wasn’t about to take the time to hang it up properly.  The latex of the gloves caught at his hair when she put a hand to the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss, the touch of it foreign and yet familiar against his bare chest as she slid her hand under his shirt.    
  
She managed to distract him with kisses as she stripped his vest and dress shirt off, and pushed him back towards the desk before working at the button of his trousers.  She was a sight, naked but for blue gloved hands and black strapped heels, working him free of his clothes.  
  
“You’re going to give me a medical fetish,” he murmured as her gloved hands skated down over the tops of his thighs.  
  
“Lucky you.  Think how much fun your job will be then.  Now get the rest of those clothes off, I’m going to need you to spread your legs.”  
  
He closed his eyes and swallowed, fire surging through him at the anticipation.  He stripped off the undershirt and couldn’t kick off his shoes and pants quick enough to obey her as she touched at whatever skin she could reach, spurring him on.  When he was finally naked—in his _office_ , he realized again, both of them gloriously, absolutely naked in his _office_ —she grabbed his hips and redirected him to face his desk.  She kept a hand on one hip and another square in the middle of his back until he was in the position she wanted, arms crossed under his head, legs spread wide.  The neatly organized set of pens and paperclips were by his nose, the soft tick of his brass clock next to his ear, while her gloved hands travelled over his buttocks, making him shiver again and press his forehead against his arms.    
  
“Now that is beautiful.”  She reached between his legs to cradle his testicles, running her gloved thumb down the underside, making an approving noise.  
  
Henry held his breath, nearly flinching at the confident intimacy of her touch.  She squeezed lightly and out came all the air in his lungs in a great rush.  Her other hand smoothed over his back in a calming, rhythmic motion.  He was vulnerable like this, unable to see what she was doing, unable to participate in any real way other than to let her handle him.  He focused on the tick of the clock at his ear, trying to quell the flash of uncharacteristic nerves.  It was almost frightening how much he trusted her, that he so willingly put himself in her hands, how easily he had handed himself over to her control.  He wasn’t certain if it was the loss of control itself, or how easily he let it happen, that gave him greater pause.  
  
But this was about sex, he reminded himself.  He cleared his throat and purposefully relaxed.  There was no need to search for more in this than a bit of unexpected pleasure, to be grateful for her willingness.    
  
“Lube, please.”  
  
He reached back to hand her the small tube which he’d been warming in his hand, and after a brief moment he felt her slippery touch, slow and gentle.  Circling, stroking, delicate at first, then a finger working into him gently, each small move hypnotic and making his hands clench in eagerness.  
  
She swatted at one cheek.  
  
“Relax, you.”  
  
He chuckled and tried to shake off the tension of arousal and anticipation.  
  
“I’ll do my best, but—“ he choked on the words as a finger slipped into him.  “Oh my.”  
  
“There we go,” she said, warm and approving, and he inhaled sharply as her finger slipped out, then in again.  “That alright?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, struggling to keep his tone consistent.  "That's really—really rather good.”  
  
She was patient and controlled, ever so gentle, moving and stretching until she had two fingers in him and he was clutching at the desk, cheek to the cool wood as she moved in and out, gliding over his prostate, gentle nudges at first, then firmer, and his waning erection surged back.    
  
With her other hand she took hold of his cock and stroked as she pressed the small nub inside him.  He caught the edge of the desk, arms tense in an effort to hold himself in place.  He didn’t know what to do, his hips twitching, wanting to push into both sensations, and as she did it again his knees loosened, his grunt loud into the quiet office.  He couldn’t help it.  He hadn’t felt like this in so long, hadn’t been so intimately handled, been able to so relax into a moment.    
  
“There, that’s lovely,” she soothed as she pumped him again, each slow and deliberate action wringing a cry from him.  “You sound nice, Henry.  Thank you for letting me do this.”  
  
_Letting_ her?  He’d have been down on his knees begging for it the moment she first kissed him if he’d known it would be like this.  
  
“I haven’t—this— _oh_.”  His logical thought was slipping away, leaving him inarticulate.  
  
“I could have you like this all night.  I’d enjoy every second of it.”  Her hair brushing his back as she leaned down and kissed the base of his spine.  “How long do you think you could last like this?”  
  
She twisted her hand around his cock as she moved over his length, and when her fingers crooked in him his hands convulsed on the hard wood of the desktop.  Oh, he worshipped her.    
  
“I don’t—,” he couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, with her on him and in him.  “I—“  
  
Her teeth grazed his back, then a sharp bite, and then the slide and press again.  
  
“Not long.  I’m close,” he managed.  “Very— _ah_ —very close.“  
  
She slowed down, the gliding, relentless pleasure agonizingly close to pain, until all his muscles were tense and shuddering.  The hard edge of his desk was sharp across his belly but couldn’t hold still, desperately shifting between the push and pull of her hands.  
  
“Shh, honey,” she cooed, rubbing her cheek against his back as she bent over him, always moving, always wringing more and more from him.  “Soon, but I don’t want to let you go yet.  You’re too beautiful, Henry.  We’re going to keep going, okay?”  
  
He gave a small nod, but his attempt to say something was cut short when she pressed hard and firm against his prostate.  He jerked at the white-hot sharp sensation, his hand knocking against the line of pens and scattering them to fall softly on the carpet.  He grabbed hold of the edge of the desk again and held on tight, clamping down on the whimpering moans that brewed inside him, trying to hang on to his sanity.  
  
She rested against his back, the firm weight and warmth of her pressing on him, driving her hand deeper as she leaned.  He pushed back into her her, then forward into the tight ring of her fist.  
  
“Yes,” she said, encouraging him, each move of her fingers making his knees shake.  “Like that.  Relax, Henry.  Let go.”  
  
Again and again, until he was certain there was nothing in this world but her body on his, the pleasure, and then again, so close.  She eased off again and his tense muscles eased, but the desperation wouldn’t leave.  
  
“Molly,” he rasped.  He choked as she twisted her hand around his cock, timed with two fingers sliding all the way out of him and back in.    
  
“Yes, Henry?”  
  
How she sounded so calm, he’d never know.  He tried to gather himself, rally a little dignity to match her collected mien, but she twisted and thrust again, and his forehead banged against the desktop as his body responded to her, far beyond his control.  
  
“Ah, none of that.  There’s no one here, just you and me.  You can relax.  I promise—” she punctuated the statement with a strong stroke of his cock that made him groan, “—that you can let go of whatever you think you need to do, and let me handle this.  I’ve got you.”  
  
He’d ignored himself so long, his body, life, his needs and wants and everything, that he’d forgotten he could feel like this, that his body was capable of bringing him anything other than pain.  Partners had come and gone, but the pleasure was fleeting, the satisfaction suitable to dull the edge of his loneliness, but he’d not exposed himself to let himself be taken from the polite confines of his control.  He’d navigated their pleasure as he’d taken his own, always one step removed from the proceedings, able to kiss goodnight and slip away.  
  
But she had him.  What was pride when had he was counting and appreciating seconds, each moment an eternity as his body gave him something to live for, a frantic pleasure that meant something?  She could have him, and he would not protest a moment of it.  
  
Another build, her hands working him in concert.  He was so close.  He needed this, needed her.  She was making soothing, understanding noises as he realized he was whining pitifully, voice driven to a high pitch, his bare chest and stomach slick with sweat, slipping against the wood of his desk.  His open, gaping mouth was fogging the polished wood with every exhale.  Oh, she could have him, if she wanted, could keep him as long as she wanted, even if it was only to make him writhe like this.  Oh, she—yes—  
  
He pulsed in her hand, his orgasm a desperate affair as he cried out, tears forming as she worked him, hand tight around him, her fingers pressed firm to the hard nub of his prostate, and her voice constant, soothing, loving, until he was wrung out.    
  
Ever so gently she slipped her fingers out of him, then a gentle wipe of tissues as she cleaned him, followed by the snap of the gloves coming off.  Her free hand travelled gently over his skin, touching him everywhere she could reach, stroking his back and flank.  
  
“Give me a minute,” he muttered, his words distorted by his face being mashed against the desk.  “Need a minute.”  
  
“Take your time.”  She laughed gently.  
  
He lay plastered across his desk, eyes closed and collecting himself, as he listened to her dispose of gloves and wipes, the sound of her moving off into the main morgue to wash up.  He propped himself up on his forearms, his arms shaky from exertion and endorphins, but she was back, gently guided him back into his chair.  She perched in his lap and nuzzled his cheek, placing small and soft kisses over his jaw, moving to rub her nose against his earlobe.  
  
“Thank you.  That was extremely memorable,” he said, stroking her hair and down the line of her spine, leaning and tilting the chair back so he could cuddle her close.    
  
“Don’t bring a lot of girls back to your office?”  
  
He chuckled, running his fingers over the curve of her hip and down the outside of her leg.  She’d brought her legs up, and when he hit the straps of her heels he set to working at the small buckle, undoing it and slipping her shoe off.    
  
“No, this is not my typical approach.”  
  
“Oh really?”  When Henry had worked the other shoe off her, she tilted her head back so she could see his expression.  She had an eyebrow arched, corner of her mouth curved up.  “So tell me, what is your typical approach?  What’s the usual Henry Morgan date treatment?”  
  
He brushed her cheek, the intimacy of her body against him and the post-coital glow making him honest.  
  
“I don’t date.  Perhaps a passing liaison here and there.”  
  
Her expression smoothed out, gentling from the sharp tease.    
  
“No courting?”  
  
“No courting.”  
  
“I’ll count myself lucky, then.”  
  
She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, hand smoothing across his bare chest.  He couldn’t help but note the way she traced the edge of his scar, exploring its boundaries but never crossing them.  She didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer.    
  
There weren’t many people who would take him as he was.  He would be the first to admit he’d grown odd over the years, his condition pulling him farther from modern society, not to mention taboos and conventions, which he cared less for with each passing year.  But Molly seemed content, unfazed by the darker aspects inherent in his work—in his life.  
  
What would it be like to tell her the truth?  He briefly flirted with a vision of his future where he explained the scar her fingers were still skirting, of the curious tilt of her head and the questions that would no doubt follow as she pried into his psyche, searching for the reason behind his words.  Would she instantly think him insane, or would she listen?  She would probably listen—Molly was curious about people, about their inner workings.  Who knew where it would go after that, but she would listen.    
  
Why did he think she would listen?  
  
“Everything okay?” she asked softly.  
  
Her hand was flat to his chest, over his heart, over his scar, and his heart was thudding hard against his ribs and into her palm.  
  
“Yes,” he lied, kissing her hair.  “Thinking of the human resources complaints and traumatized lab staff if we get caught here.”  
  
Her small acknowledging noise was doubtful, but she didn’t inquire further, instead smoothing her hand down to rest against his belly.  
  
“I had a nice night,” she said.  
  
“As did I.”  
  
“I’d love to do this again.”  
  
“What, sex in my office?  Not that I object, as this is a memorable experience, but I can think of more comfortable places.”  
  
She laughed and lifted her face to kiss him again, this time lingering, and he lost himself in the comfort and affection of a simple kiss for no sake other than connection.  
  
He shivered, the sweat cooling on his skin.  She broke the kiss with a last gentle peck on his cheek.  
  
“We should go,” she said quietly.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
But he was reluctant to let her.  He was tempted to suggest she come home with him, but he didn’t want to spend his morning spinning lies about Abe to her.  He didn’t want to lie to her at all.  He tried to master the wave of disappointment at the reminder of the iron gate between them.    
  
“Come on.”  
  
She stood and took his hand, pulling him up, and in the quiet of the office they dressed, strolling from the morgue holding hands, her in his arms on the sidewalk, quiet kisses until he could bear to let her go long enough to hail a cab to send her home.  
  
It was late—early, really, and he didn’t feel like going home.  He walked around the block of the precinct, and then went back to his office to sit in his chair, contemplating the spread of his desk.  Empty, now.  He really should clean it.  And his chair.  He started to laugh to himself, at the ridiculousness of such impulsivity.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with someone who had driven him to such foolishness.  
  
Well, no.  He could.  He shied away from the comparison, not willing to draw the obvious parallel.  That was then, this was now.  He’d not put more weight on this than it deserved.  
  
Henry went to fetch some cleaner and towels, thoughts drifting from Molly to the case and the ketamine coursing through their suspect’s system.  Henry pulled up the file and started adding to his report.  He kept pausing mid-sentence as he vividly remembered Molly’s mouth on his skin, or her whispered words and confident touch.  His thought travelled the circle for some time until he dozed, face-down on his paperwork, only to be woken by the sounds of traffic and busy city life gearing up from outside his office windows.  
  
The day had begun.  Jo and Hanson would soon be in, and he had things to tell them.  He would be there and ready to greet them when they arrived.  Revitalized from the short nap, Henry pushed himself from his chair and strode from the office, all set to ignore Lucas’ curiosity as he went past…    
  
Only to realize Lucas was not in.  Right, Saturday.  The weekend staff would be in later, and unless he took action, none of the detectives would be here at all.  
  
He turned around and made his way back to his office.  After flipping through the rolodex on his desk, he picked up the telephone receiver and started dialling.  They would all need to be updated on this development, so best to include the lieutenant.  And he’d need an extra hand for running the blood work, so Lucas....    
  
The self-satisfied grin was only half thanks to the ketamine answer.  



End file.
